On their way to Calletano's Language Inc., LaRue lights up a cigarette. Calletano looks at him in a perturbed fashion. He furrows his brows and waves the smoke away from his face. "J.D., must you do that?"

"What?" LaRue asks. He briefly looks at his hand on the wheel holding a cigarette. "This? Hey, you're getting this ride for free. Until you pay up…"

Calletano tosses a ten dollar bill at him. LaRue tosses the cigarette out the window.

"Man, keep your money. I don't want it."

Calletano shoves the money in his back pocket. He looks at the former detective. "Enjoying Division?"

"Yeah." LaRue readily answers. "What's there not to? I get paid good. Sleep later hours. Don't have to clean up after scum on the streets. Don't screw up like I used to. Help others with problems that I've gone through." His voice changes lower. "Stay in an office alone. Stay home alone."

Calletano notices the change in tone. "Ever miss the Hill?"

"Sure. I miss the people. Not the work. Can't go back there. Too much history. Especially with recent events."

"Recent?" Calletano quizzically asks. "Lady problems, J.D.?"

"Uh, kind of."

"You were always in heat."

"I'm not sayin' that quick, hot, passionate, sensual energy isn't satisfying."

"It's just not enough for you."

"Sometimes monogamy is good."

"Monogamy? You? I never figured you of all people to have that word in your vocabulary."

"Hey, a leopard can change its spots, right?"

"I wouldn't know."

LaRue grins back. "Neither would I. All I know is, maybe I've grown...a little."

Calletano looks at him, seeing the nervousness in his body language. "So, women problems it is. There is nothing bad about being monogamous. It's especially wonderful when you find the right girl. Like I've got my Rosa. Nobody turns my head like her and nobody could make marinated chicken and peas like her. I know she will be there beside me when I wake up in the morning. Happiness is key, J.D. You might find it when you least expect to. You just have to open your heart to it."

LaRue sighs heavily. "Thank you, Dr. Freud." He shakes his head. "Not that easy."

"Ah, you already have your eye set on someone." Calletano smiles in understanding.

"It's complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Uh, yeah. Two."

"Two women? You mean like Phil was with Cindy and Grace Gardner?"

"Uh, more like opposite sides of the spectrum. Possibly."

"Possibly? You mean you don't know how the other one is? I'm confused, J.D."

"It's a complex situation I'm dealing with. I just found out about this a couple of weeks ago."

"And the other?"

LaRue raises his brows as he thinks aloud. "She's really something else. I don't know. Never saw it before. If you were to tell me…" He shakes his head.

"Tell you what, J.D.?"

"I'm still trying to figure it out."

"What?"

"Fate. Karma. Cosmos. Universe." LaRue checks his jacket pocket, feeling with one hand. "Man…"

"What is it?" Calletano asks.

"Out of cigarettes. Listen, I'll stop by the pharmacy on the way down."

"Will I get to the office in time?"

"Relax, Ray. You'll get there just fine."

Ten minutes later they arrive at the pharmacy. LaRue gets out of the car. He goes around to the passenger's side. "Ray, we'll still have…" He checks his watch. "Five minutes to spare by the time we get there. Promise."

Unsure, Calletano thinks it over. He nods back. "Okay."

LaRue goes inside the store.

A few miles away, a police unit is driven by officer Denver Johnson with his partner Bryce Kincaid. A block down they spot four men all dressed in black with ski masks and Lupara rifles running from a bank. One back pedals and shoots the door. A guard races out and fires a single shot, hitting the robber in the leg. Two of his buddies rush over and carry the limping man to an awaiting black van. Dropping off their loot, they scramble inside. The guard takes aim again and fires a shot into the back of the screeching van. One robber says, "Step on it!" They speed away.

"All units on the look out. Black van. Armed robbery at Market St. Bank. Suspects last seen on Kent St. headed towards Lawrence Ave." The female dispatcher calls out over the radio police units.

Johnson reacts quickly. "That's us!"

Kincaid says, "Call it in?"

"Uh-uh. The channel don't work. This one's ours. You want to tell the captain we were on the other side of town for better doughnuts?"

"Remember what the Lieutenant said." Kincaid answers hastily.

"The lieutenant ain't here. Ya got me?" Johnson flares his nostrils. He steps on the gas.

Kincaid turns to his partner nervously, "You wanna get in trouble a..."

"Just shut up! Do your duty as an officer of the law and just shut up."

LaRue arrives back to his car. "All set to go."

"Good." Calletano answers back briskly.

They start to pull out from the side of the road where a taxi pulls up from behind. LaRue looks in the rearview mirror, smiles to himself and says, "I should just be a cab driver."

"Speaking of driving, J.D., when did you get this car? It is exquisite! From your brother in-law?"

"Rob? You think the guy would sell me a car like this? Even on my worst days of drinkin' I could see right through that little weasel. I wouldn't trust him with anything."

"Yet your sister is married to him."

"Not my choice Ray. Got the car four months ago. Finally able to pay on a mode of transportation that won't leave me to be financed…" LaRue stops talking when he hears the distant sound of a police siren. Then he continues, "…into the next century."

"What is it?" Calletano asks, noticing the concerned expression on LaRue's face.

"Siren. I'm gonna pull over 'cause they're comin' up on us real fast.

"Okay."

A black van nearly cuts them off from a nearby side street, screeching its tires as it rounds the corner. LaRue feels his heart jump as he sees the police cruiser roaring down the street with various other cars quickly beeping and pulling over to the right. A tractor-trailer approaches from the opposite lane. The police unit swerves around the big truck. The alerted LaRue flashes his sight to the side of the road just as the cruiser zooms by only a couple of inches away. He jerks the wheel to the right. Calletano's eyes catch sight of something in the passenger's side mirror. LaRue's gray sedan clips a second police unit blazing past him on the right with no warning. The impact sends the sedan spinning.

"!"

The car pin-wheels into the tractor-trailer in the opposite lane. The roof gets sheared off from the impact and shatters the windshield. Finally, what's left of the sedan squarely sits under the big truck as the smoke from screeching tires floats down the street. One of the side view mirrors drops to the ground.

Hill knocks on the door as Renko awaits. They hear a scream. "Alberto Gonzales, we know you're in there!" Hill calls out, drawing his revolver from the holster.

A woman's muffled voice comes through. "He's going out the window! Hurry!"

Hill kicks open the door, where he finds a young woman shivering in fear while holding a baseball bat. He and Renko look out the window at a fire escape. Come on, Renko."

Renko shakes his head. "A fire escape? I'll meet you down the stairs."

Hill flares his nostrils, shakes his head, then proceeds out the window. He begins to descend the ladder carefully. Gonzales turns around to see the officer climbing down, before he knows it, he runs right into Renko. The officer restrains the man and puts him on the ground quickly. Taking out a pair of handcuffs, he states, "Alberto Gonzales, you're under arrest for violating a restraining order."

"She called me, man!" Gonzales shouts. "I go over and she got a bat!"

"That's a heartwarming story I do believe the judge would want to hear."

Hill climbs down from the ladder. "Renko, how did you get him so fast?"

"Well there Bobby Hill, I told you the stairs would be best instead of using those parallel monkey bars you were on."

"Parallel monkey bars? Renko, you takin' English classes with Lt. Hunter?"

"I have not, Bobby."

"You won't go down a ladder because you know and I know that you're just plain too fat and lazy."

"I do not do heights."

"Like I said, cowboy. Fat and lazy."

The two quarrel some more as they lead Gonzales to the back of their police unit.

Two fire engines, several EMTs, a coroner's van, and numerous police cars gather on Lawrence Ave. A team of investigators and firefighters try and clean up the mess. Two police officers talk to a distraught truck driver. A dark sedan with flashing red light is allowed through the barricade where several onlookers watch.

Capt. Frank Furillo gets out of the car to check the scene. He clutches his beige trench coat against a sudden frosty breeze. Walking forward, he can't quite believe the destruction which looks like a storm touched ground. Glancing to his left, he spots two firefighters working on a car lodged against a fire hydrant. A flood of water makes its way down a path, surging into a sewer.

"Furillo!" A man's voice calls out.

The captain looks ahead to see a man dressed in fire gear approach him.

"Bascomb, what's going on?"

The fire inspector says, "Bad accident, Frank."

"I can see that. Why am I here and what are you doing on this side of town? I thought Company 5 handles this area?"

"I can't help it if mine was faster on the scene. Good thing."

"And you called me for this? It looks like you have enough people. Looks like a hurricane came through here."

"Frank, I called you for a reason. Two of your guys. John LaRue and Ray Calletano. Don't think I don't know who they are. I have to warn you. It's not a pretty sight."

Furillo glances at Bascomb. He rushes over to the crushed car underneath the tractor trailer. Bascomb follows him. The captain takes a hard swallow when he sees a white sheet covered over the passenger's side.

Bascomb says, "You don't want to look under there. It's a mess."

Furillo says to himself aloud in a harsh whisper. "Dear God. Ray." He puts his hand on the sheet, holding back tears. Dropping his head, he remains numb.

"When the windshield burst from the impact, that's when it must have gotten him. Either that or simply being crushed. The medical examiner says his spine shattered up to the neck. If it wasn't the glass that got his aorta, then he would have been paralyzed. That much damage to one person."

Furillo says in a mere whisper, as he tries to shield his face from tears. "He was so happy…about the promotion from the mayor. LaRue?"

"They sent him over to County General. The guy must have nine lives. Not many people survive something like that. He was slumped over the steering wheel. Barely a scratch but in very rough shape. The EMTs discovered he had a faint pulse and pulled him out. No telling how he is inside."

Furillo looks up the street. "They were only five minutes away." His sadness slowly morphs into anger. "Who did this?" He asks with gritted teeth.

Bascomb answers with, "A cab driver across the way saw the whole thing. You might not get too much out of him though. He was too busy puking his guts out earlier."

The captain wipes away his tears and walks across the empty street littered with emergency personnel cleaning up. Slowly he takes a breath before stepping onto the sidewalk where a detective from East Ferry and the drugstore worker tend to the cab driver who breathes into a paper bag. The worker holds a small cup.

Furillo says, "Raschman, what can you tell me?"

"The guy, Lenny, saw the whole thing. He's told us little things but it's hard to get the full picture."

The captain answers back with a nod. "Let me try it." He steps over to the man. "Sir?" The despondent cab driver shivers, staring ahead. "Uh, Lenny? I'm with the Hill St. Police Department. Capt. Frank Furillo. Those were two of my closest friends in that car."

The cab driver's eyes slowly roll to Furillo in tear struck grief. "It was…here. They were. Pulled out. Two. Like you. The…the car. It was spin..ning. Couldn't… Couldn't do…" Lenny starts to breathe hard again, throwing his head into the paper bag for air. "…any… Anything. Helpless. Screeching tires." He holds his temples as if hypnotized. "Awful squeal. Shattering glass... Stuck under."

Furillo looks at Raschman for a second. "Two. Like me?"

Raschman shrugs his shoulders. "The guy's in shock. Frank, I'm really sorry what happened."

Lenny says, "Two. Both sides. Driving fast. Faster…faster! Nearly parallel." He takes a large swallow. "One had…a…siren. The other…" The cab driver takes another swallow. He shakes his head. "No."

Furillo feels his body temperature grow cold as he puts everything together. "Cops?" Lenny can't answer. The captain wants to pick him up and shake the answer out of him. "Cops?" Furillo blinks back with numbness. "Cops? Police did this?" He asks with uncertainty against his chapped lips and icy tears waning in his tear ducts. Glancing back to the accident scene, he watches the medical examiner roll away the gurney containing Ray Calletano underneath the sheet. Thinking for a moment, he catches sight of a nearby police unit. Without looking at Raschman, he says, "Take care of him."

The captain walks over to an unoccupied police unit. Getting inside, he places a call over the radio. "Dispatch, this is Capt. Frank Furillo of Hill St. I need…" He swallows back the lump in his throat when he sees the medical examiner pull away. "I need the most recent activity between the coordinates of Lawrence Ave. and Kent St."

"Dispatch responding. Robbery on Bank St. Shots fired at 8:40. Black van pursued at 8:43. Response by units 1430, 1431, 1433, and 1434. Black van apprehended at 8:58 by units 1430, 1431, 1433, 1434, 2208, and 2209."

Furillo studies the numbers in his mind. He winces back. "Dispatch. Can you please repeat? Just the units."

"Units 1430, 1431, 1433, 1434, 2208, 2209."

Furillo inhales deeply. Nearly, letting the receiver go he answers, "Thank you."